


PICK YOUR POISON

by ShadedEclipse



Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Characters will be added as they appear - Freeform, For Want of a Nail, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-03-15 03:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13604148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadedEclipse/pseuds/ShadedEclipse
Summary: Reincarnation, she thinks, would be a whole lot more interesting if she wasn't pre-destined to die.( From fire, genocide, amber lead- take your pick. )





	1. Chapter 1

warnings. / none, for now.

* * *

OO.

**PICK YOUR POISON**

_prologue._

* * *

It's seven in the afternoon when things suddenly, horrifyingly, click into place.

And the girl- she  _remembers_. Not of this life, but of another.

Trafalgar D. Water Lami is all of three years old, and this young decaying vessel is bound to die within the next six years.

.

.

It's not as though she hadn't realized things were  _off_ prior to this moment; it's just that she hadn't known how perilous the situation was until then.

The girl had always known that she was a little off. She never felt quite  _right_  in this body; as if she were wearing a suit too small, as if her limbs didn't move like she was used to. She had recollections of  _things_  that Lami had never experienced before. Of flying metal automobiles and city lights that spanned across  _miles_. Recalled languages and  _information_  that Lami, in all of her youth, had no chance of understanding let alone  _knowing_. There were  _people_  in her dreams whom she  _knew_ she loved, but could never remember- as if their memory was but a figment in the fog that coated her mind. She's far more intelligent than her peers, but far too mature to be quite  _right_.

She supposes that she is lucky. Her parents, rather than abhor or remain suspicious over her oddities, find delight in her intelligence.  _Two for two_ , her father would say with pride. Two genius', under one roof. How delightful.

If only they knew the extent of  _what_  their daughter is, then maybe they would not feel so blessed by her presence.

.

.

But it's not until  _then_ , at seven o'clock that afternoon, that it really  _clicks_  that she is not  _from_  here. She is not from a  _world_  where pirates rein havok over the oceans, or where  _fruit_  grant magical abilities.  _Her_  world is not divided into four seas and a belt,  _her_  world is not governed by a single entity. Technology in  _this_  world is not lacking; but it is  _different_. She is not from  _here_ but she  _knows_  where this is, knows  _who_  she is.

 _She_  is not Lami, and she is not from a world depicted in a comic book.

.

.

The next day she wakes to the realization that she is still  _h e r e_.

( She wonders when i̶f̶ this nightmare will end. )

.

.

Lami loves her brother, Law, but ever since her memories  _clicked_ back into place she cannot stand to treat him with loving devotion like she used to. When she didn't remember; when she didn't  _know_.

It makes her feel guilty. He is a good, honest kid. Law doesn't deserve this treatment, he doesn't deserve  _her_. She has stolen his precious little sister from him and  _he doesn't even know it_. She doesn't know what to do. She  _can't_  act like the ray of sunshine and love that he is worthy of- she isn't  _capable_  of it, not anymore. Not in her last life, not in this life. When she looks at him all she can see is the pain and  _suffering_  he will go through later on in life. How  _she_  will die, how her parents will perish, how the world around them will burn to the ground thanks to the greed and gluttony of those in higher power.

She  _wants_  to be a good sister. To give him a version of Lami that he deserves.

But.

Everytime she looks at him her chest and gut  _ache_. Like she can't breath; like she's struggling below the waves of her own  _past_. She could  _almost_  pretend like she wasn't in a world riddled with corruption, slaughter, and evil if it weren't for  _him_. Law is a constant reminder that she is in a world far from her own. A reminder of the  _past_  and the  _people_  she left behind. A reminder that she is doomed to die within the next next few years.

 _She_ loves her brother dearly, too, but she can't stand to look at him without thinking about what she has  _lost_  and what she is going to  _lose_.

.

.

Lami's parents worry about her change in personality.

It's understandable, she is much more introverted and morose than before.  _She_  can't help it. She is not Lami and she can't bother to pretend to be. Even still, the Lami she was before her memories clicked in was not the Lami that she  _remembers_ \- not to say that it's a lot; her memory of a show she only watched as a pastime is not the greatest. But she remembers enough,  _knows_  enough to know that she is  _fucked_.

Regardless they worry... until they stop.

She catches them whispering to one another one night, tittering in Lami's father's office;  _how adorable, she's imitating her older brother!_

_how precious!_

She loves these parents, but she can't help but be glad that they are doctors and not psychologists. Maybe  _then_ they would understand the extent of the problem.

She revels in their ignorance.

.

.

In her spare time she writes in her journals.

Reincarnation, she thinks, would be a whole lot more interesting if she wasn't pre-destined to die.

( From fire, genocide, amber lead- take your pick. )

This world is  _much_ different than her last. It's as though all the rules of her past world simply do not apply to this one. Humans are much more durable, have a higher capacity for strength, speed, and pain. Their bodies themselves seem almost… built different, though extremely similar. The animals and creatures of this world are completely different than her… past one. They hold abilities and intelligence that those of her last world could hardly comprehend.  _Willpower_  is enough to break the flimsy rules that govern how this universe works; all of which completely baffle her.

As bizarre and seemingly  _impossible_  as this world is, she finds herself  _fascinated_  as she reads through books, or listens to her parents tell her stories of this world. Similar, but  _so_  different that she can't help but marvel.

( It would have been nice, to be reborn in a fascinating place like this; had she not been shackled with a futile fate. )

 _She_  was never a scientist or a doctor, or any of the sort. She was an intellectual who enjoyed reading and theory- but she never was big into physics or biology or anything of that matter. As such she can't wrap her brain around the changes that viciously whiplash her senses. The environment had been her domain of interest, food security and advocating for helping those in need. None of...  _this..._  had been her specialty, and she feels awfully out of place. Bitterness clings at her ribcage. She is a bad candidate to  _stop_  things, to save herself, if that is her purpose for being  _here_.

It's laughable, if anything.

The issues at hand are far more than what  _she_ alone can deal with.

In theory the fire itself would be easy to avoid, however the war that was bound to irrupt? The centuries worth of accumulating poison exposure and inherited low life expectancy rate? The corrupt government and royal family that willingly subjected their people to death?  _Those_  aren't things that she could  _fix_. She can't just... cure a disease that even the best  _doctors_ on the island won't achieve. She can't parade herself around a war wrecked land and expect not to get injured or caught. She can't just stand up to the nation and world government and say  _hey could you, you know, not destroying us?_

The frustrating part is that there will be no point in the war bound to erupt; her generation was fated to be that last one, anyway. The world government would willingly allow the nation of Flevance to be slaughtered and discriminated against for nothing.

( She thinks it's awfully cruel to offer a second chance, only at the expense of being pushed into an impossible situation. )

Everything she thinks, everything she remembers- she writes it all down.

The language of this world is one she cannot recall from her old one. It's not English or Japanese, not Spanish or French. Completely original. She supposes that she should have expected this; they are completely different worlds, what are the chances of universal languages across all the universes? It might also be a blessing in disguise. It means she can write in her journals without the peeping eyes of her parents or her brother. Not that she thinks they would do such a thing as impede on her privacy- but she can't help but be vigilant in a world destined to burn.

She writes as much as she can remember about  _One Piece_ , about the characters - people, now - of goals and  _arcs_. But Lami cannot remember much. It had been a pastime, something she enjoyed to do on the side. The adventures of Luffy and his friends had been nothing but something she would do when she had nothing else to fill her time. She tries though, and fills her books with as much useless information as she can, lest it… somehow, be useful in the future.

But that's not all she writes.

Lami writes stories, nursery rhymes, songs,  _anything_ from her past life- anything that can allow her to  _believe_  that yes,  _that_  life had been real. It isn't a figment of her imagination, it isn't just a  _dream_  she had. This language she knows, these stories and  _knowledge_  had to come from somewhere, right?

Her parents encourage this behaviour. Lami thinks that  _they_  enjoy the thought that both of their children are ridiculously smart, leagues above their peers. She takes advantage of their lenience as much as possible.

( She tries not to think about how she has stolen their daughter;

how she is a changeling in disguise;

how she has desecrated the  _idea_  of  _Lami_. )

.

.

Lami starts to loathe the colour  _white_.

Flevance is absolutely  _stunning_ ; the story had that right, at least. It glitters and sparkles with the sort of beauty that is aesthetically pleasing to the eye, and  _radiates_  with wealth and marvel. Pretty ivory painted across the grass and sky, like a canvas waiting to be sketched on. Walking around the town itself feels as though she is walking through a fairytale - though, she supposes she  _is_ \- with its mystical and gaudy white semblance. It's understandable  _why_  people would be attracted to this country, to the city she lives in.  _Gorgeous_ ,  _splendid,_   _breathtaking_. It  _reeks_ with a sort of  _holiness_  that begs for devotion.

She supposes that the people of this world haven't learned that the most beautiful things, often times, are the most dangerous.

The longer she stays the more acidic her throat and stomach feel; the heavier the pressure on her chest and ribs. Every breath taken is ripped through her throat with force and effort. Every bite of food is shoved, pushed,  _persuaded_  past her teeth. The happiness of others, their carefree  _unknowing_  smiles cast sharp pains into her heart and gut,  _knowing, knowing,_ that this beauty they hold in reverence is bound to kill them. Everything here is  _white, white, white-_  and isn't ironic how the  _white_  in this country is symbolic to  _death_?

Sometimes she laughs at this thought, sometimes she is wrecked motionless.

( she doesn't want to die. )

.

.

Lami's parents stare at her oddly, when one day she leaves her room wearing plastic gloves tucked into her sleeves and a medical mask on her face.

"Dear…" Her mother says with a tone of concern, and exchanges a look with her father, "What are you wearing?"

Honestly she hasn't thought much of how she should explain this. Saying, ' _our nation is plagued with poison exposure, and the only way I can think to stop it is to cut it off'_ would not do. Best case scenario they wouldn't believe her. Worst case, they would.

She takes a moment before mumbling, "... germs."

Her mother simply stares for a moment while her father gives an amused laugh. He turns to his wife and motions in her direction with an obvious sense of pride, "This one is going to be a doctor."

They laugh, and Lami continues to thank the heavens for their obliviousness.

Law, on the other hand, looks contemplative.

.

.

( the next day she finds law wearing gloves and a mask as well, and she  _preens_. she loves him. her chest bursts with fondness for her older little brother and she feels  _glad_  that  _maybe_  this might help, maybe it'll  _do_  something… but she also can't help the tiny tinge of resentment that lingers in her gut and says;

 _he doesn't need this, i do. he's not going to die. i am-_  )

.

.

It takes a few months, but she somehow manages to trudge her way out of her wallowing depression that has hung over her head like an oppressive wave of force. It remains, still, and she doubts that it'll ever pass, but it becomes manageable. Functional.

Flevance, in all it's brilliant glory, is a pit of festering disease. She knows that she will not get any better should she stay here for very long. She knows that she  _will_  die, should she sit by and abide by what story dictates. Remaining passive and  _allowing_  this to continue would sully whatever being gave her this new life. Usually those who stand still do not recognize the chains that cling to their feet; but she has the gift, the  _opportunity_ , to  _do_ something about the fate that has been tethered onto her. There are very few who are given this  _chance_ , even if her hurdles are seeming impossible to overcome.

No longer can she act docile, wait for saviour to come and extract her from this destiny.

It doesn't matter if she is Lami or.. Whoever she was, in her past life. Now she is neither of them. She is someone entirely different,  _something_  entirely different. Made of lead and death; tethered together by an unknown source. But it doesn't matter.

Whoever she is-  _she_  doesn't  _want_ to die.

And in a world that bends and breaks over the strength of one's will, maybe - just maybe - she can garner her own freedom, release herself from her chains that bind her wrists and ankles, and  _change_ her story.

.

.

( she has a plan. )

* * *

instead of writing for things i should write for... i did this.

i've had this idea in mind for  _a long time_  now. i've redone a prologue three times now, with different tones and writing styles and... i liked this the best. it's rather unorthodox for me, as i usually write long blocks of description and dialogue, but i wanted to try something new.


	2. Chapter 2

warnings. / none, for now.

* * *

O1.

**PICK YOUR POISON**

_changeling_ _._

* * *

.

.

change·ling

**ˈCHānjliNG/**

_noun_

1\. a child believed to have been secretly substituted by fairies for the parents' real child in infancy.

.

.

* * *

All it takes is a few subtly - or not so subtly - placed fliers to catch Lami's parents attention.

_St. Monroe's Girls School Of Excellence._

A guaranteed path to a child's success, the brochure promises, along with the companionship of other like minded girls whose ambition and connections would forever remain in their care. From ages 4-16, St. Monroe's dedicates itself to molding the perfect lady, isolated on the island of Briar North where students can focus solely on their studies and self discovery. Boasting an approval rate of 98% from students, St. Monroe's vows to create a worthwhile and successful environment for any and all girls wishing to do great things.

Lami is certain that it is all a ruse, a scam for money and an everlasting power trip, but she has stopped caring. Her standards are low, now that she is growing desperate.

All she can see is  _white_ ,  _white_ ,  _white_ \- and she's not sure she can  _take_  it anymore.

She'd rather submit herself to the dictatorship of private school in attempts of cutting herself from the source of her poisoning than watch in complacent silence as she  _dies_. Every touch, every bit of food, every  _breath_  is done painstakingly; wondering, wondering, if  _this_  is the minuscule amount of poison that dictates whether she is past the point of no return or not. How is she to know if her life is redeemable yet? How is she to know how much more of her life is left before it is a race towards death? Has she already crossed the halfway point? Was she born with the intention and destiny of falling?

Hope can only last so far, she tells herself before remembering where she is,  _who_  she is.

 _Hope, determination,_ _**will** _ _, can make or break the universe- only in trying will she get her answers. Only through trying can she succeed._

_._

_._

( Sometimes she forgets;

fake or not, she is a  _D_. in the making, and she will make the world  _tremble_ in effort to claw back together whatever scraps of her life is left )

.

.

Her parents are hesitant to consider the idea of sending their child to an all girls private school, having their minds set on sending her to the same medical school as Law, but Lami remains relentless in her passive aggressive reminders. Brochure here. Comment there. Newspaper articles littered across the floor. She wishes she had more female friends, she hopes to one day be an influential woman in society-

( She will not be ignored; she will not remain  _h e r e._  )

Lami's  _plan_  will take time to execute; will require money and supplies that she can not obtain just yet. At the age of four she is too young to be taken seriously by anyone of importance. Too inexperienced in the world and it's ways to go out into it safe and sound. She cannot stop a war, she cannot stop genetic diseases. However, she can't allow herself to believe it's hopeless; and maybe it truly is a hopeless effort, but that is a hurdle that she can overcome later. For now, she needs to  _study_ , she needs to  _strengthen_ \- she  _needs_  so much and she's not sure if she can procure it, and yet the only way she can know for sure is if she relentlessly and hazardously reaches and  _reaches-_

Because at the end of the day, in the secluded and gorgeous walls of Flevance, she has -  _is_  - nothing but a rotting corpse of a body.

She needs to leave, soon-  _now._

The sense of urgency that claws at her chest is not one that she can express out loud without questions arising, but she can feel it pulling and tugging at her sanity. Fragile cracks splittering across her mind, a spider web ready to shatter. There's a countdown floating over her head,  _tick tock_ , and it's only a matter of time before it all falls away into nothing.

.

.

"There are  _pirates_." Lami overhears her mother saying one night, and she gets the impression they have been arguing for some time now given how  _exhausted_  she sounds.

"Statistically speaking-"

"Don't." Her mother warns, "With the Donquixote's, Vinsmokes, and Ryerson's running amok there are  _no_ safe places in the North Blue regardless of your  _statistics_. Do you really want to take that risk? With our daughter?"

"She has a keen mind, a will to explore! If we smother it now then she may lose all of her creative potential, or worse, come to resent us for limiting her freedom. Briar North is only three islands away, we could travel there in two days at  _most_."

"That's a two day gap where  _anything_  can happen without us even  _knowing_! At least we can make sure she is safe here. Taken care of. Pirates don't come here! Thugs, bandits, vagabonds, they are nonexistent!"

"Do you know what else will be nonexistent? Her curiosity. Her  _ambition_. She has a flame inside of her, and if left undeveloped she  _will_  wilt. If we let her explore, just a little bit, in a controlled environment then perhaps she won't become one of those thugs or vagabonds that you fear so much."

Lami can  _just_ barely hear her mother whisper, "I don't like it. She's only four."

"You say that like she's a  _normal_ four year old."

.

.

Law spends most of his time studying, which makes it all the more special when he takes the time to sneak Lami out of the house to play or buy snacks. It's.. adorable how he naturally gained this sort of… feeling of responsibility for her, wanting to make sure that she is happy but not being especially good at conveying his thoughts and emotions. The effort is more than enough, though a part of her feels… morose.

(she is not lami)

He's not the most sociable kid, kind of shy if not a bit uninterested in interacting with kids their age who do not hold the same esteem as him, but he always tries for Lami. Though, she's not exactly a friendly individual either. Trying to play with the other kids at the playground can be… tedious. She's just glad that Law shares this trait. It means that they can avoid kid's their age without her looking suspicious to onlookers, because it's the two of them. They're simply... like this, nothing more to question. Singularly they stand out, but together it must be in their genetics.

Sometimes she rallies kids to play, just in case, when the fear of being lax threatens to overcome her.

Sometimes Law and Lami just sit in silence. These are the best times, simply enjoying the company of the other.

(she tries not to think;

shadows lurk in the corners of her mind;  _resentment, guilt, anger, fear_.

so long as she runs she can pretend that everything is okay )

.

.

"Please." She whispers one night, unbidden, cracking with an emotion that one her age should not have acquired so soon.

There is a long silence. Her mother sighs.

"... Alright."

.

.

In the privacy of her own mind, she calls herself a changeling; a  _ravenous_ beast of a child playing house in the empty shambles of an innocent taken away before it was her time.

There is nothing that can be done about it now, she  _knows_ this. Lami has run the logistics through her head many nights, debated with herself, argued.  _Lami_ , the child within the story, does not possess this body anymore. It's  _her_ , the changeling, that can  _feel_. That can  _speak_. That can  _think_. She has made this body her own, has taken over Lami's life, has felt the warmth and love of her parents and brother.

And with the knowledge of the future she intends on  _keeping_ it this way.

She does not know where  _Lami_  has gone, if she was ever an existence in the first place, and while the guilt festers like an open wound  _she_  knows that she cannot falter in her steps. Hesitance, doubt, indecision- the first steps to complacency, a feeling she cannot afford when every moment  _counts._

( It doesn't stop the growing cavern in her chest; may as well call her  _Tartarus_.)

She knows that she has to cut herself some slack. Perhaps she too was a child taken before it was her time; taken unwittingly in the dark where no eyes on this plane could witness it.

In folklore changelings are said to be  _hungry_ ; plagued with insatiable appetites that tear families apart with their unsustainable cravings. While widely believed that in the middle century families in poverty needed reasons to excuse a child's need for food, Lami thinks that she too needs to be  _hungry_ \- needs to  _ache_ , to allow  _desire_  and  _survival_ to tear at her flesh and bone. The type of hunger nothing in this world could satisfy;

Only then, she thinks, will she unlock mysteries of this universe.

.

.

"The Void Century is rather evident in its name; any and all events that occurred during this time is… unknown. Missing from history."

Lami watches as Law continues to breathe out a snot bubble as he sleeps, head propped up on a fist in a bad attempt of faux awareness. Another one of the many phenomena that baffles her about his world; there is a literal bubble of snot growing and decreasing in size as he slumbers. Does phlegm in this world have a different… molecular makeup, consistency, or something, in this world? Lami was never a very science driven individual, but she can't help but admit that she is fascinated. It's like watching a balloon.

She had never bared witness to such as thing in her old world, at least not that she recalls.

Then again, there isn't much that she remembers.

"No historical records have been found in the past  _eight hundred years_  that can give insight on what happened, and no one knows the truth of what the Void Century is…"

It's not unusual for Law to fall asleep in their father's history lectures, especially if it has nothing to do with science or the sea. While especially intelligent and dedicated, not even Law can remain with a steady heart in the face of their father's monotonous one-sided dialogue. History in itself is rather interesting topic, however their father has the habit of… tenaciously and passionately rambling about various points of history that both Law and Lami find themselves rolling their eyes at.

Honestly, who cares about Noland the Liar and the social consequences of this children's story? Or Valentine Alys, the man who took siege of a city by himself nearly three hundred years ago.

"There are plenty of theories as to why the Void Century happened. One such theory is the Great World War theory, that claims that history, literature, and art were destroyed in the midst of a large war. Another theory claims that a  _devil fruit_  was the cause of the missing century..."

Their father hasn't noticed that Law is still asleep, and she doubts that he will until after the lecture is over. Sometimes she wonders why her father is a doctor, and not a professor. He certainly likes to talk and she's certain that there must be some overlap. Doctors need to be taught, after all. You know, not just kids like Law and Lami.

Lami picks up a pencil and quietly reaches over the desk to poke at the newly forming bubble. It remains stubborn for a moment and then pops.

Law remains asleep.

There's guck on her pencil, so she reaches over and snags Law's. He's clearly not going to use it.

"...of course, most academics believe that history wasn't recorded simply because there was nothing to record. While uncommon, it is not unheard of. In fact, there are many islands that don't believe in the written form of history, and prefer spoken word and story-telling. The fact that it was an entire century spanning from all corners of the known world, however, is certainly a thought to mull over."

She wonders what her father would think about The Ancient Kingdom. There.. isn't a lot that she remembers about it, other than it's fall in the Void Century by those who would later form the Celestial Dragons, the Poneglyphs, and the Ancient Weapons. But it was underlined multiple times in her notebook so it must be something  _very_ important. She doubts it's a detail she needs for the time being, but twenty years down the line she's pretty sure she will be cursing herself over her missing fragments of memory.

She notes down a few things in her book, mostly theories.

 _* void century; unknown._  
_* possibly caused by war? or laziness._  
_* mysterious  
_ _* probably bc of the cd & wg_

 _* ancient kingdom_  
_* probably great_  
_* probably powerful enough to scare people into forgetting history_  
_* how were they destroyed if they were so great_  
_* books burnt? sad._  
_* what if the d.'s are from the ak? or the nobility of ak._  
_* does that make me nobility  
_ _* it's been 800/900 years that's enough time to spread their genetics right_

 _* Im  
_ _* ?_

"What we  _do_  know, however, is that the World Government was formed after the Void Century, along with the Council of Kings; both institutions are still standing and thriving to this day. As of our current knowledge, they are the longest running political parties that the world has seen..."

Lami mulls.

She pokes Law in the cheek and his head plunks down onto the desk.

Her father doesn't notice, and instead continues.

"It's quite remarkable, really, how long the government has managed to maintain peace and control over the world, especially considering the slavery rebellions that happened 200 years ago. Since then slavery has been abolished, proving that social movements can chang-"

Lami yawns. Propaganda.

"What if the World Government caused the Void Century." Lami drawls, not wanting to listen to the "good deeds" that the lapdogs of their overlords have done.

The World Government knows about the  _poison_  slowly building in their bodies, how they will  _all die_ in time, and doing nothing about it for  _financial gain_ ; would turn their backs on Flevance in their  _time of need_ ; would make the world  _fear_ their existence despite knowing the harmlessness of their disease to those who aren't born with it; would allow the  _genocide_  of Flevance's citizens while  _freeing_  their nobility. She tries not to think about it. She  _really_  tries. Thinking about it makes her blood boil and her stomach drop as though she was dropped from a mountain top.

No no, she can't think about it not when  _her dad is going to-_

"Oh sweetheart," He says with a  _fondness_  that drips from his voice, despite her blatant treachery. Her father has always adored curious minds, those willing to ask difficult questions in order to achieve understanding. "The World Government brings order to our world, why would they ever do such a thing?"

She wants to be sick.

.

.

There are papers that need to be filled out, tests that need to be taken- but Lami  _knows_ that she passes with flying colours. She is no four year old, and the questions asked are child's play even if the school boasts excellence and superiority over schools within the island string they live on.

She watches with her father as the carrier bird flies off with all of her documents.

It's only a matter of time, now.

.

.

Law doesn't take the news well.

It happens at dinner, their parents casually bringing up the subject; Lami will be attending St. Monroe's Girls School of Excellence in two months time.

For the first time in awhile, Lami feels like she has a real chance; like this all isn't just her reaching into the dark in hopes of grabbing  _something_. Maybe her theories will be correct, perhaps she can do the  _impossible_  in a way that no one, including herself, thought possible. There is nothing more that she  _craves_  than the opportunity to breath in untainted air, to  _eat_  without wanting to vomit, to  _sleep_  without dreading that  _this is it, this is the one that will lead me to my death_.

It doesn't occur to her that Law might..  _feel_  something about her decision. That he might become upset or lash out.

Why would he?

But she watches as he stops mid-way through a bite and simply  _stares._

" _What_?!"

There's something to his voice; an emotion close to anger but with too much  _heartache_  to really be considered as such. As if his voice is too fragile to perfectly convey the torrent of emotions that he feels, and it's… shocking. Lami had never thought, could never fathom, that he would disagree.

She forgot; he is a person, he is a  _child_.

Law looks from his parents to Lami and- his face twists into a look of pure, wrenching,  _betrayal,_ before he pushes his chair backwards with gusto and storms out of the room.

Lami stares, bewildered, and her mother sighs.

"Don't worry," Her father says with reassurance. "He'll come around."

The look her mother sends to her father does not settle the unease that has settled in her stomach.

.

.

( she doesn't regret her decision; it is her  _life_  on the line, and she  _will not_  regret doing what she needs to in order to survive. she holds no ill-will towards law, loves him, even. but he doesn't need to worry, not now, not for another twenty years. he will not die anytime soon, and maybe it's selfish but she cannot allow herself guilt or hesitance over the steps she must make in order to  _be there at his side_  when he needs it most.

however when, later that night, she hears the quiet sobbing in the room next to hers she-

 _feels_.

her fingers curl into the fabric of her sheets as she presses her face into her mattress.

 _breathe_. one step at a time. this heartache is minuscule in comparison to the ones yet to come.  _breathe_. )

.

.

For the next few weeks Law refuses to talk to Lami or their parents. He eats, he sleeps, he studies. Otherwise, he ignores their presence and runs into his room whenever the opportunity arises.

Lami pretends not to care.

_breathe._

_._

_._

* * *

this is... overdue.


End file.
